


Honor Those the Dragons Heed

by wargoddess



Series: Mass Dragon Ages of Mecha Pern [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey, Mass Effect
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Exhibitionism, Improbable Sex Positions, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Vicarious AI Sex?, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 16:32:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6618004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wargoddess/pseuds/wargoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>C'len will make sure K'ver knows himself perfect and beautiful, even if C'len has to fuck it into him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honor Those the Dragons Heed

**Author's Note:**

> Posthuman Pern porn! LOL.

     It is done.  Honnleath has flown fair Lotherinth in a contest witnessed by the riders of every weyr.  C'len is Weyrleader of Kirkwall now, and for as long as he can keep his dragon healthy and his weyr strong.  All are worthy-enough challenges, to be sure, but he feels confident in his ability to meet them.  He does not think of the reforms he means to impose as visionary or daring.  The changes needed are tradition, tempered by the undeniable laws of efficiency and common sense.  They are what must be.  He is a man who believes strongly in the purpose of the weyrs as bestowed upon them by the Maker-Dragon and his queen Andrasteth, in Pern's renewed hour of need.  Andrasteth is known to have said, _Blessed are those who stand before corrupt and wicked synthetics, and do not falter._   The Reapers are the embodiment of all that is evil and corrupt about artificial intelligences:  they seek to dominate, to warp, to destroy.  The dragons represent all that is good and righteous in AI-kind:  with their partnership, both humans and AIs become a greater whole than they are apart.  It is any Weyrleader's sacred duty to facilitate this partnership, which has protected Pern for a thousand years.  C'len will _not_ falter.

     But C'len does not rule alone.  His Honnleath may have found and won his queen, but the wooing and winning of a Weyrwoman is a wholly different thing.  He's made a good start of it, at least, and he feels powerfully motivated to continue the effort.  K'ver is beautiful, and it has nothing to do with his smooth soft skin or his black, black hair or his artwork of a body -- though granted, all these things stir visceral, powerful lust in C'len.  More important is the fact that K'ver possesses all the marks of beauty that matter to dragons:  strength of body and mind, a protector's ferocity, a warrior's delight in battle, sharp unwavering focus on the good of the weyr.  That he is also sensual, free of inhibition, and defiant of tradition and expectation -- ah, these are mere human traits, but ones that make him an ideal queen's rider.  He is everything Kirkwall needs, and so perfect that he takes C'len's breath away. 

     Yet it troubles C'len greatly that K'ver never seems to _know_ how perfect he is.  This is partly the result of him being upgraded to queen from green, C'len knows; there are things about being a queen's rider that K'ver simply does not understand because he has not yet lived them.  These are things C'len himself did not understand until he forged the bond with Honnleath and became something more than a man.  There are mysteries involved in riding the highest-ranked dragons -- more than just greater size and strength makes them the rulers of the weyr.  A queen persona's desires and strengths write and maintain the character of a weyr.  Others might be power users and have substantial pull on its bandwidth, but she is ever its admin server.  When she is strong and proud and focused, so are all of the weyr's dragons.  Her chief bronze's will might direct its battles, but this is only ever in service to her.  He exists to make her happy, and all his work is meant to ensure the best possible environment for her and the best start in life for her children.  He is Security; even if his power matches or surpasses hers, he would have no purpose without her.

     C'len is determined to make K'ver understand this.  And because K'ver is such a creature of sensuality, a man who speaks with his body and emotions more than words, C'len knows that the best way to drive the message home is to fuck it into him.

     (That's a vulgar and inadequate term for what C'len hopes to do.  It is, however, the term that K'ver would use.  C'len, too, has been transformed somewhat by the bond between them.  He says and does things now that would have been unthinkable once.  This is not a bad change.)

     So now he walks toward K'ver, who sits on the railing of C'len's landing pad, gazing out over the rugged caldera that is Kirkwall's weyr bowl.  C'len keeps his approach slow, casual, careful.  There is something about K'ver that always seems poised for flight, like a hawk or some other ferocious, fragile creature -- but for C'len, K'ver relaxes.  He allows C'len to claim his jesses.  This is an honor that C'len will never take for granted. 

     K'ver glances around and spies C'len, or perhaps he is alerted by the taste of C'len's thoughts.  He raises his eyebrows, then grins in that wicked way of his.  "Got something for me, do you, Weyrleader?"

     C'len nods.  It was a hard thing for him, when he first became a bronze rider, to accept his own sensuality.  He is a modest man in truth, inclined to chastity -- not because he feels no desire, far from it, but because he has never been comfortable unleashing those desires on others.  His needs are powerful things, and sometimes they frighten him.  He has learned to bring them forth only rarely, and only with people who are strong enough to bear them.  Which is why he stops before K'ver, swallowing, pent.  K'ver does not fear him.  K'ver is more than strong enough... if K'ver chooses to accept his offering.

     "Would you do me the honor of making love with me, again?" he asks.

     K'ver slides down off the railing.  Does he _try_ to stand like that?  He looks like sex.  He's so relaxed, hips akimbo, arms draped over the railing, one foot still braced against it, chin lifted to show off his long neck, and perhaps in challenge.  The sight of him like this makes everything in C'len grow taut with need.

     K'ver's grinning, though.  "No seduction," he says.  "No sweet talk or pressure.  Just, 'Please, can I fuck you, it's an honor, please can I stick my tongue down your throat, would you be so gracious as to permit it,' and so on.  I don't know whether to laugh at you or think it's the sweetest bloody thing anyone's ever said to me, every time."

     "It is appropriate," C'len says, daring to take a step closer.  "No one should assume welcome, even of a prior lover.  Perhaps I failed to please you, last time.  Perhaps you've changed your mind and no longer want me."  He swallows.  K'ver's lips call to him, a distraction.  He makes himself focus on the man's eyes again.  "And it _is_ an honor, that you allow my touch." 

     He reaches, slowly enough that K'ver can refuse him or pull away.  K'ver lifts an eyebrow, then -- ah -- lifts his chin, offering his mouth to C'len's fingers.  C'len draws a thumb around the edges of his lips, slowly, reverently.  When K'ver's lips part, C'len's groin tightens.  When K'ver, watching him, leans forward and captures his thumb, his breath catches.  K'ver strokes the pad of his thumb once with his tongue, then -- suckling on it, gently -- pulls back until the digit slides out of his mouth.  It is the single most erotic thing anyone has ever done to C'len, and he is breathless with it.

     He steps forward, cupping K'ver's face, needing, and it is a delight that K'ver inhales a little at this, closing his eyes and yielding to the kiss even before C'len's mouth touches his.  K'ver yields so _beautifully_ , opening to C'len's slightest press, making a little sound of pleasure when C'len sweeps his mouth with quick strokes of his tongue, teasing back with flicks of his own tongue, suckling a little as if to entice C'len to penetrate him elsewhere.  C'len grows so powerfully hungry for more that he lets the kiss end and has to press his forehead against K'ver's for a long moment before he can manage words. 

     "Please allow me to attend you," he whispers.  It's begging, but damn his pride, he _needs_ this.  "You know that I would treasure you, K'ver.  I can be gentle and slow if you want that, but I..."  He has to swallow.  "I would... make demands of you, of your flesh, if you allow.  If you would enjoy.  May I?"

     It's gratifying that K'ver's eyes are still shut when he speaks.  He's savoring C'len's kiss.  "Maker, you're gorgeous," he says, somewhat to C'len's surprise because he's been thinking the same thing.  "When you want me, it's _so much_ want.  Been thinking I might get bored having only one bloke to hand, but you're like five all in one."

     C'len licks his lips, strokes K'ver's neck with his thumbs, tries to will the man to have him.  "I said that I hoped to win your devotion.  I meant every word."

     "You mean everything."  But K'ver opens his eyes now, considering him.  Then he reaches up and -- ah -- unbuttons the wherhide riding vest that he habitually wears.  He does it slowly, his smile an invitation, and C'len _needs_ to let his hands slide down K'ver's neck, staking claim to his body as it is bared.  The vest slides off K'ver's shoulders and C'len grips them, loving that K'ver's deltoids fill his hands.  Off his beautiful arms, and C'len has to bend to lave one dark nipple with his tongue, biting it, suckling it, because it is there.  K'ver lets out a soft breath that shakes a little, at this.  His torso is unmarked save for a few tattoos and scars of battle, all accessories to his warrior beauty.  The wispy trail of black hair that runs from his navel into his pants calls to C'len; he drags his fingers down it, then toys with the fastening of K'ver's pants.  K'ver's cock is a prominent lump against the fabric, only a few inches below C'len's fingers.  _Please let me_.  K'ver chuckles a little, but nods, and C'len has the belt unbuckled before K'ver stops nodding.  K'ver unzips himself as C'len's hand slides in and hooks out that magnificent erection to bob between them.

     "Good place to start, I'm thinking, yeah?" K'ver breathes.  C'len cannot help but agree.

     They're outside.  Anyone can see the Weyrleader's landing pad, if they choose to look, and given that Kirkwall is a hotbed of gossip, some are probably looking.  C'len doesn't care -- or hesitate before he drops to his knees atop the vest.  He is doing his duty by his Weyrwoman.  Let them all watch.

     K'ver's cock is the softest skin on his body, and C'len is always gentle in his licks and caresses of it.  It's a lovely cock -- impressively girthed, gracefully curved, rising brown from its nest of black.  He knows it's too much to swallow, but he tries anyway, as his hands ease K'ver's pants and underwear down over his ass and long, strong legs.  He strokes its shaft where he cannot suckle.  He closes his eyes and loses himself a little in the slide of soft skin along his tongue, the jab at the back of his throat, the half-swallowed curses and strained sounds that K'ver makes.  If K'ver wanted to spend from this alone, C'len would be content, because it will mean K'ver has been worshipped as is his due.

     But K'ver shudders violently when C'len's fingers stroke behind his balls, and C'len feels him uncoil from the railing at last, feverishly kicking off his pants and boots.  "Cull."

     He lets K'ver slide out of his mouth with a soft wet pop, though he keeps the shaft cupped in one hand so that he can kiss along its length.  "What would you have of me?"

     "Maker, C'len, you _know_ what I want."

     Yes.  K'ver is a simple man, with simple desires:  he likes to fuck, period full stop.  He doesn't much care about the particulars, like who does what to whom or which parts go into where.  It is the movement that excites him -- the rhythm and breath and grind, the quickening and deepening, the rising fever, the vented tension.  This is why mating battles ease his sexual urges, though imperfectly; combat is also movement and tension and release.  Sex is better, though.  The man simply loves cock.

     But _C'len's_ needs are finer-edged things.  So once K'ver is naked, C'len gets to his feet and leans his cheek against K'ver's while he strips off his own clothing.  " _Speak_ your desire, K'ver.  How am I to know, otherwise?" This has the virtue of being the truth.  C'len has ridden his cock, rutted between K'ver's dark-energy-sheathed thighs or belly against belly, penetrated him, stroked him to incoherence.  K'ver is a neverending smorgasbord of delights.  "What would you have me do to you?"

     K'ver groans against C'len's shoulder; his fingers pluck at C'len's skin.  " _Fuck_ me, Maker damn you. Fuck my ass until I come.  _Please_."

     C'len shuts his eyes for a moment; of course K'ver knew what that last word would do to him.  K'ver's neck is bared before him and he bites it, not as gently as he should, but K'ver shudders in response and he knows it was not too much.  They're both naked at this point, and it's blissful to stand against him like this, skin against skin, warmth upon warmth, breathing his scent, smelling his lust.  "Will you kneel for me, or stand?" he asks against K'ver's sweet skin.

     Wordlessly, K'ver turns to face the railing, bending forward to cling to it.

     C'len licks his lips at the sight even as he summons his omni-tool and activates the dark-energy sheath for his cock.  He doesn't bother to ask if K'ver wants to go inside; it's obvious K'ver doesn't care if anyone sees him getting 'a nice dicking,' as he likes to call it.  As if summoned by this thought, two weyrlings fly past, their young dragons flapping awkwardly in the air.  At least one of the weyrlings is staring toward C'len and K'ver, goggling so much that C'len can see the O of his mouth even from afar.  He'll have to speak to the weyrlingmaster about that one; no rider can afford distraction while a-dragonback.  One should dismount first, in order to attend one's weyrmate with appropriate focus and skill.

     In token of which C'len crouches to lick his way along K'ver's cleft, grasping and holding apart the solid muscled curves of his ass to facilitate this.  Dark energy sheaths reduce friction better than any lubricant and don't need to be renewed even after hours of vigorous rutting; it isn't necessary for C'len to attend him this way.  C'len's doing it because it makes K'ver shudder and curse under his breath and cling harder to the railing when his knees buckle.

     "Fuck," he pants, while C'len works.  "Fuck, fuck... _fuck_ , C'len.  Fuck, you're a monster.  Fuck."

     It's a lovely song.  C'len smiles and laps at him for a bit longer, reaching around to tug his cock with a steady milking twist.  This lasts only for a few moments before K'ver groans and shifts and finally bats C'len's hand away, muttering something about it feeling too good.  Amused, C'len stands and runs the fingers of one hand down K'ver's spine, tracing out every knot.  He extends the sheath over the fingers of his free hand and then works three of them gently into K'ver.  K'ver is ready.  K'ver has _been_ ready.  C'len just likes listening to his frustrated whimpering.

     Just to drive the blade a little deeper, he asks, "Are you ready for me?"

     "Fucking _yes._ "

     "Shall I spend in you?"

     K'ver laughs breathlessly.  "Nnh.  I want.  On my sk- skin."

     He's half gone with it already.  Exquisite.  C'len watches his fingers sliding in and out of K'ver's ass.  It's hard to be patient, to be appropriately cruel, when he _wants_ so.  But he restrains himself, stroking K'ver's beautifully muscled back and licking his lips in anticipation of riding all that strength.  "Shall I ease you quickly, or make it last?"

     "Fuck's _sake_ , Cull." C'len loves that K'ver calls him this.  There is no dishonor in discarding the honorific between lovers; it adds a degree of intimacy, and after all he _was_ once Cullen.  "Why do you always..."  K'ver has to stop and bite back a cry when C'len deliberately finds and massages the sweet spot within him.  He's been pushing back against C'len's hand; C'len's cock is so hard that it aches.  "M-make me try to pick between good and g-good?"

     C'len pulls out his fingers and pushes his cock into K'ver in a single smooth, relentless shove, gripping his shoulder with one hand and hip with the other.  When K'ver gasps -- he's so open, so ready, it's like C'len belongs here, adjoined to him -- C'len starts up a steady, forceful rhythm.  K'ver utters a sharp, "Fucking finally!" that echoes from the nearby rock surfaces; half the weyr probably heard it.  C'len grins and deliberately angles himself so that their flesh slaps together, not hard enough to hurt but loud enough to carry.  If the weyr would know their Weyrwoman served, they will know him _well_ served, C'len decides.

     "Are you well?" he asks.  It's hard to talk, his voice jarred by the force of his own thrusts.

     K'ver moans and it is like a song to C'len's ears.  His voice has gone higher, plaintive, begging by tones.  "Fuck, yeah.  Exactly like that.  So good, Cull.  More, more."

     C'len cannot last, not long -- not when it feels so good.  He tries, anyway, folding his arms around K'ver, caressing him, toying with nipples and cock and lips.  (K'ver pushes C'len's hands away from his cock again, but bites his fingers when they trace his lips, and keens softly when C'len flicks at his nipples.)  He gets too close at one point and thinks he will lose the contest, even though he presses his face into K'ver's neck and thinks of Reapers, Meredith, anything that might cool his body's fire.  It doesn't work, but Honnleath touches his mind and sends coolness into him.  The discipline of a bronze dragon, who must mate on the wing and slowly, copulating with his queen for an hour or more in order to ensure that the AIs conceived have time to develop properly.  It is not the same as C'len's need to satisfy a needful lover, but it helps, and he groans as the urge to spill eases somewhat.

     But not the urge to worship.  "I will give you anything," C'len whispers this against his weyrmate's flushed, sweating skin.  "Anything you want, K'ver.  I am yours.  I _choose_ to be yours."

     K'ver doesn't answer, probably because he can't.  The pleasure has unvoiced him.  This is his favorite position.  Now that C'len has bought himself a few minutes more, though, he wants K'ver to reap the benefit of that.  So -- not slowing his thrusts, keeping K'ver's hips close and in position -- he pries loose K'ver's hands from the railing and tugs them behind him, pinning his wrists together with one hand.  "Come," he murmurs.  They walk like this, C'len steering him with arms and cock, K'ver whimpering and staggering as C'len keeps fucking him, never stops, keeping it deep so he won't slip free.  C'len has half a thought of putting K'ver on the couch -- on his belly, pinned down so that the couch cushions will rub his cock while C'len torments him netherward -- but that isn't what he really craves.  For the culmination of their pleasure he wants... force.  He wants K'ver helpless, driven out of his mind, both of them lost in each other.  He wants...

     <<Here.>>  The voice is bright apples, richer and honeyed now with shared pleasure.  C'len glances over at the dragons and sees Lotherinth watching him from under a fold of Honnleath's wing.  Her haunch is closest to them, and it is perfect -- a firm but yielding surface, soft enough to cause K'ver no harm, angled just so.

     So C'len fucks K'ver over to there.  They have to separate then, which makes K'ver curse, but C'len turns him around and covers his mouth with a kiss.  K'ver goes instantly pliant for that; sometimes C'len thinks K'ver likes his mouth more than his cock.  He uses the kiss to press K'ver back against Lotherinth's massive thigh, and keeps the kiss going as he lifts K'ver, hooking his arms under the man's knees.  K'ver groans loose from the kiss then, pressing back against Lotherinth's skin and nearly writhing in his excitement as he understands what C'len is up to.  C'len catches K'ver's cock and rubs them together with one hand just to tease, biting at K'ver's jaw and throat.  K'ver makes a frustrated sound when C'len does not resume fucking him.

     <<Keep him on the edge, like that, yes,>> Honnleath suggests, thoughts glimmering with hints of mating-lust.  It isn't the same for dragons without a queen's pheromones and write-macros involved, but C'len's hungry thoughts have found echoes within the dragon.  Bronzes are always ready to mate.  <<Lick his throat.  Feel how he hums as he pleads for mounting.>>  C'len tries it and Honnleath is right; K'ver's adams' apple vibrates as he groans and curses in his want.

     <<Rub him with your body!>>  That is Lotherinth again.  Her tail flicks eagerly, off to the side; C'len can feel the wind of it.  <<He likes your skin.>>

     C'len laughs, then lets go one of K'ver's legs so that he can frot steadily against him -- and then he bites K'ver's lip when Lotherinth suggests it, and reaches down to tease circles about K'ver's neglected nether entrance with shield-slick fingers when Honnleath asks him to try that.  It could have gone on longer, C'len suspects later, with the dragons gleefully directing K'ver's ravishment -- if K'ver hadn't shouted free of the kiss.  "You shit, C'len, _you shit_ , if you don't stop listening to these _sodding pervert_ dragons and fuck me _right bloody now_ I'm going to _kill_ you!"

     C'len grins, hooking him up again and sheathing himself with a soft breath of relief.  He couldn't have held out much longer, anyway.  "As my queen wishes," he whispers against K'ver's chest. 

     <<No more playing,>> says Honnleath.  The dragon's thoughts are hot; he rumbles.  <<Let him feel your strength.>>

     <<Yes, yes,>> agrees Lotherinth.  <<He is strong enough to bear anything you give him.  Give him all of you.>>

     As his queen demands.

     So C'len fucks K'ver at last, bending his knees for the best angle and putting all his strength into it, abandoning discipline entirely as he submits himself to K'ver's needs.  It feels completely natural to have the dragons with them in this blistering moment, riding his ferocity, stoking K'ver's feverish demand, encouraging and supporting them both.  K'ver is wailing now, pulling himself to meet C'len's strokes, head flung back in his abandon and arms vise-tight around C'len's shoulders.  A few jarring strokes and suddenly C'len is on the brink himself.  He fights it instinctively.  Not yet!  He needs -- he needs --  K'ver utters a strangled howl and C'len groans in relief as he feels K'ver's thoughts unspool into ecstasy, body jerking with little spasms as he spends against C'len's belly.  Yes, yes, _that_ was what C'len needed.  Oh, it is glorious.  And oh, C'len remembers that K'ver wants C'len's seed on his skin, he does, truly, but it feels too good, so good to push into him, so good that C'len cannot stop himself from grinding deeper when the spasms clench down below.  He cannot control everything, and it feels good to lose it here, trapped in the cage of his lover's arms and thighs, sobbing his relief into K'ver's hair as the orgasm wrings him out and leaves him with nothing, nothing, nothing. 

     Nothing but this beautiful, perfect man, with whom he now slides to the ground in a tangle of sticky, sweaty, boneless limbs.

     Lotherinth shifts a little beside them, and in his dissipation C'len is only vaguely aware of the dragon's slender forked tongue flicking over them, making sure they're all right.  Honnleath murmurs a little, then extends one broad, sail-like wing.  Warmth redolent of dragon musk covers them, a shield against cool air chilling overheated skin.  K'ver sighs in pleasure at this and moves further into C'len's arms, settling.  The soft, pliable material of the dragon couch is remarkably comfortable beneath C'len's back.

     The temptation to just sleep is great, but C'len is nothing if not a man of duty.  "Have I pleased you?" he asks the top of K'ver's head.  K'ver is heavy upon him, solid with muscle, completely relaxed.  It's a pleasant burden to bear.

     K'ver laughs once.  "The fuck do you think?"  He slurs the words, drunk with afterglow.  "Pervy dragons, though.  That's new."

     "It is the weyr's duty to see to the needs of its Weyrwoman."

     He feels K'ver's brow flex against his skin, and then feels him make a half-hearted effort to lift his head.  The weight on C'len's chest lessens for a moment, then settles back into place.  "Right, okay then."  He yawns.

     C'len strokes his side to soothe him, and does not press.  More than Lotherinth and Honnleath were connected to them by the end of it, of course.  Many of the dragons had linked in to observe.  C'len also felt the tentative, eager questings of the distracted weyrlings -- though he would not let them join the hub until they'd landed their dragons -- and the amused or aroused touches of riders who could hear K'ver's groans and whimpers echoing around the weyr bowl.  It had been pure instinct for C'len to gather all of those minds into the gestalt, and to share with them his pleasure and love as they had already shared his strategies and ferocity in battle.  It pleased the weyr to know their Weyrwoman well-tended.  Some of them were still with C'len, in fact, delicately pressuring him to roll K'ver over and tend him again.  It's been far too long since Kirkwall had a proper leader pairing to love and strengthen them; they are greedy for more.

     _Later_ , C'len sends back against their clamoring, letting his eyes drift shut.  _We are but flesh and blood, after all._   They subside, wistfully.

     Ah, but when K'ver has rested, though...  C'len strokes his weyrmate's shoulder again, permitting himself a small, anticipatory smile.  K'ver is already asleep, his breathing deep and even.

     <<Yes,>> says Honnleath, his thoughts an echo of C'len's own smug satisfaction. <<We cannot have our Weyrwoman neglected.  K'ver must know himself honored and admired.  C'len, you must rest, too.>>

     Yes.  C'len allows himself to relax into sleep then, the better to admire K'ver afresh in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I had a slow week at work.


End file.
